Oh, here we go. The strudel felt like it had congealed in the pit of my stomach, sinking like a rock, and all the cinnamon burned the back of my throat like acid.
Out of all the moments Brando would choose to do this, he’d chosen this one, when Luca’s mood had turned the color of the sea. Dark.
Brando put his hand over mine, and I entwined our fingers, squeezing, trying with all my might to stop him from doing this, but as stubborn as a rock, he did things on his terms.
Clearing his throat, he stared at his father until Luca met his even gaze. “We appreciate the offer,” Brando said in slow, polite Italian. “However, it is unnecessary for our family. After Venice, we will be going back to Tuscany. My wife and I have spent each of her pregnancies in the house that belonged toNonnaGrazia and her family, and I would prefer to do the same with this son.”
Maggie Beautiful’s arm tightened as she increased the pressure on her husband’s arm. I did the same to Brando’s hand. Whether we did it to calm them or ourselves, it was hard to tell.
My heart had jumped into my throat, and the blood rushed through my veins in such frantic surges that it almost made me giddy.
“Nonnoasked me to take care of his sister and her husband, should death come to him. I will respect his wishes and do as he asked of me. I have invited them to live with us, in our home. Tito did not want to intrude, but if he did not accept our offer, he would not respect the wishes of the man he considered a brother.”
Another blow. Two in a row.
Luca’s first instinct was to jump across the table and seize his son by the throat. Then do the same to Tito.
Brando, muscles tight, braced himself for the impact.
Pots and pans clinked in the kitchen. Low chatter from the wait staff. The wind picked up, close to howling outside. No sound came from the guests at Luca’s table though.
Luca regarded his son, and then he turned the look on me, regarding me warily.
Had I lied to him in the prison? Given him a false answer to his question to manipulate him for our own needs?
I’d told him to give Rocco permission to do whatever he wanted regarding his marriage, but in no way did I lie for our sake. He would know if I were to lie.
Brando had made uphismind to return to Tuscany, but the Faustis had a suspicious nature, and no matter what existed between me and Luca, he stripped me down as he would a stranger in that moment.
Rosaria noticed and breathed easier. Her announcement was pushed to the side in light of my questioned loyalty.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed, though.
One the outside, Brando became a statue of stone; on the inside, he was ready to brace at the first sign of violence from his father. We both knew it wouldn’t be me that he took out his rage on.
I held on so tightly to Brando’s hand that my ring dug into his flesh.
My father-in-law nodded at me, his eyes relaxing, finding me not guilty. He waved a hand. “Your wife will still give direction on renovations and decor of the villa. It will get done.”
A sigh escaped my lips, too much air inside a near-to-bursting balloon, and my grasp on Brando’s hand lightened.
His grasp on mine never did.
* * *
If my husband was lightning,I had become the metal conductor.
With my hand firm in his, his muscles tense and his jaw working, I could hardly keep step with his long, intense strides.
At one point on the route back to the palazzo, it dawned on me that he might just pick me up and cart me home.
The issue with Luca had not been resolved.
Luca had taken his announcement and twisted it. His response was clear enough: He allowed us to return to Tuscany, under no certain terms, but at some point, he expected us back in Florence.
Brando had come to the end of the proverbial rope—no longer would he accept orders of when and where. Not a man to live under anyone’s thumb, he didn’t appreciate nor accept his father’s laws.
Hair wild and clinging to his head from the rain, his clothes in a similar state of dishevelment, his appearance matched his mood.
